Great Men
by rhymeswithmonth
Summary: "A great man is one who leaves others at a loss after he is gone." The ones who are left and those who did the leaving. It's only after they were found that they truly felt lost.
1. Chapter 1

Decided to start this one day I didn't have homework (for once). Kind of all over the place-just wanted somewhere to dump my Lost musings. The Drabbles are probably going to focus mainly on JackXKate and SawyerXJuliet, but there might be flashes of all the old favs: CharlieXClaire, DesXPenny, LibbyXHurly, etc etc etc.

This first on I don't know if I'm happy with. There's no plot really, just a bunch of emotions thrown down. I was trying out getting into character a bit and it turned out OK.

NO.1- SawyerXJuliet.

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Humans are material beings- hoarders by nature. They put so much worth into possessions that eventually it becomes who they are. For a long long time he'd defined himself based on the things that he _didn't_ have, and had become a bitter, cynical person because of it. 

He didn't have a job (not a real one anyway) he didn't have a home, or money that truly belonged to him- that he'd earned himself. He didn't have an education, having dropped out of school at fifteen. He didn't have a real friends or a family. He hadn't had parents since he was eight years old. 

It defined him, yes, but it also isolated him. He dwelled on all of the things his life lacked, believing with every ounce of his being that it made him stronger. People simply didn't want to be around such a destructive aura. Peers at school whom he might have befriended recoiled from his snarky attitude, the teachers gave up on him, dismissing him as just another lost cause. Even his family, his own flesh and blood turned away. But he just sneered and trudged on in the world, blaming and hurting and looking for something that he thought would take away the pain of not-having. 

In Kate, he thought he'd found a kindred spirit. She didn't have things either and he'd loved her for it. He saw it in her eyes every day; no home, no friends, no family; it was like looking in a mirror. It was exciting, the prospect of finally having someone who _understood_. 

But why didn't he feel happy? He 'got the girl'; in the terms of society they would have been considered to be 'together'. Jack was tucked neatly out of the way, on his way off the island, never to be seen again as far as he was concerned. But for some reason, he didn't feel like he'd gained a damn thing.

It didn't take long to figure out why. Kate went back, Locke blew the sub, and they were all right back to where they'd been before. It was if everything that had happened in that cage didn't mean a thing. Kate still gazed at Jack with longing, even though the doc had gone and got himself a new girlfriend.

The new chick, the other; Juliet. In her he thought he'd found an enemy. She had everything he didn't and he'd hated her for it. She'd had a home, she had friends, a loving family. She had the best education possible, a diploma from a prestigious university and a thriving career. He saw nothing of himself when he glared at her. It depressed and enraged him, having to be around someone who would _never _understand.

But then, why did he feel drawn to her? In the terms of society, they were polar opposites, and would never be together. Jack was there; he was right smack dab in the middle of things. And Kate was still fawning over the guy, leaving him feeling used and dejected. But for some reason, he didn't feel so empty any more.

And it didn't take long to figure out why. Kate went back, all the way back, to the real world (with the doc) and the boat blew up. It was as if they were even more stranded then they were before. He hadn't gained any of the things that he'd strived for for so long, but...that didn't matter? 

For so long, it had defined him. He focused so hard on the things that he didn't have, that he'd never stopped to think about what he _did_ have.

Juliet, the other, the new chick. She made him look. And suddenly, he felt like the richest man alive. All around him popped up new, wonderful things. He had friends now, loyal and loving. He had a home, a little yellow cottage with a whitewashed porch complete with a swing and window boxes filled with flowers. There was a front lawn with a curving path to the front steps. Wind chimes tinkled merrily from the rafters.

He had a job, an honest (well, it's all relative) job with a real salary and legitimate (again, _relatively) _paperwork. He had workers who looked up to him, respected and relied on him. He had responsibilities that he actually followed. 

And for the first time since he ran away from his uncles' house, he had a family. A mismatched unit they were. Jin, ex-enforcer for Paik industries, stumbling over the unfamiliar English words. Miles, psychic medium-sarcastic and blunt. And Juliet, with her vast medical knowledge and impressive diploma, steady and beautiful-the glue that held them all together. 

She was the cherry on top, the thing that made his cup run over. Every morning he woke in her arms was like the first time. She'd opened his eyes to all the things he'd had all along. His memories, his love of books, his goofy sense of humor, his penchant for classical music; all of the things that made him who he was. Those things defined him, and those things no one could take away; not with a gun, not with sweet words whispered into a vulnerable ear. No conman wanted to take his well of Little House trivia away from him. It was all thanks to her that he'd finally realized this.

It had all taken a scary turn when he recognized that he no longer saw her as 'one of the guys' any more. It was she that defined him. Not a moment passed that he did not consider her-her reactions her thoughts her feelings-she became the centre of his world.

It was scary because she could be taken away from him. Who cares about his secret love of collecting stamps? He'd give up all the stamps in the world, he'd never read another book again, never listen to another Beethoven if it meant that she'd be by his side forever. But there was nothing he could do. There'd always be the danger that somebody would rip her out of his arms never to be seen again, just like everyone else he'd ever cared about.

The thought was so abominable that he tried to force himself away from her. He wasted months suppressing what was obviously there; looking back he could have punched himself over the wasted days. She was obviously hurt and confused over his avid avoidance of being alone with her-for fear of what would happen if he allowed it to. But it seemed that Juliet disagreed with his views, and fought back.

When it happened he was ashamed he'd ever tried to prevent it. It was so wonderful to be with her, so painfully wonderful. He could forget everything that he didn't have, because what he did have so surpassed any of those things that it felt silly to even think any different.


	2. Chapter 2

Really dark stuff. Upping the rating for the abuse of illegal substances, angst, character death, and sexual content. Because Lost has a darker side.

Notice the tense changes, I did them on purpose. When it's in present-tense it's the events I want to put focus on, and the past-tense is sort of set up.

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Since he'd stopped imagining escaping the island the day she moved in with him, when it actually happened he was completely lost. Nothing was the way it should have been. So many people who should be at his side as he stumbled from the plane weren't there. He had his arm around Kate, after all these years, but there was no victory. Instead he wished with all his heart that her dark curls were blonde waves, that those freckles of hers would disappear and that she'd magically become Juliet. 

His little family has shattered. She'd always been the one that held them together; they'd all said it. Now she was dead, Jin was dead, and he wished that he was as well. Miles is there, but without the other two, what does it mean? Two lonely guys, hearts stuck in the past. They aren't even allowed to reveal to the world that they're alive. (Not that it matters, they don't have anyone to reveal it to.) They don't even look at each other as they climb into the cars that are to take them their separate ways. 

In a weird twist, it was Richard of all people who immediately encouraged them to move on and start new lives. The guy threw himself into modern society with enthusiasm. He was determined to live a 'normal' life. (But it was doomed from the start - He soon disappeared, probably couldn't hold a job down and eventually just dropped dead in a gutter somewhere)

But anyway, in the weeks after they crash landed for what seems like the millionth time now, Richard danced around, trying his best to get the rest of them to cheer up and 'live life to it's fullest' and crap.

He stuck with Kate. It wasn't awkward, as one might have expected. They were too broken to feel awkward. The thought of reviving any relationship that they had in the past had ironically died with Juliet and Jack. Claire stuck to Kate's side like a barnacle as well, shying away from the loud noises and bright lights that she had grown unaccustomed to in the past three years.

They rented out a little room in a shabby hotel in the middle of nowhere, the three of them did. He settled right in, taking to his rickety sofa-bed and only getting up to use the bathroom or get a new book when he finished reading the previous one and he motored through about a book a day. It was odd but Claire became his most loyal companion. They developed a routine together. She and Kate shared the one bedroom, but more nights than not she ended up dragging her duvet into the living room and settled down beside him on the sofa.

There was nothing sexual about it, hell no, they never touched. But they formed a bond in those early days- one of loneliness and not-belonging. Neither of them slept much, so they'd stay awake together, him reading whatever book he was on out loud, and she listened intently. 

It pissed Kate off the way they resigned themselves to that pitiful existence, and she would storm out of bed in the morning and yell herself into a tizzy that often left her sobbing in frustration and reduced Claire to a shaking mess. He watched them both apathetically, not quite able to make himself care about how pathetic they'd become. 

But Kate was in no way well-adjusted. She just dealt with it differently. She cooked, she cleaned, and she left the house. If it weren't for her, the other two would have long since wasted away. 

If it were up to her, they would be long gone from this dump. She had so many big plans for the future- Make their way to Australia and find Carole Littleton for a tearful reunion. Buy a house nearby so that they could visit Aaron any time they wanted. Call Cassidy and Clementine and force him to face them. Somehow reaching out to the family of every person who'd died on the island. That part she was especially fanatic about. _"They deserve to know the truth now"_ She insisted passionately _"now that...now that we don't have to protect them any more." _

She tended to do that-talk about the others. It was as if she couldn't not talk about them. When she gathered them together for one of her sit-down dinners that she insisted they have in order to be 'normal', she babbled on about how she'd seen Hurley's mother on the news the other day, or read an article about Paik Industries in a magazine. The little time she actually spent in the apartment she spent sitting awkwardly at the table, staring into space and occasionally reminiscing about some event or other from the past three years. It made him want to punch her in the face in all honesty. (He never would, of course, but the thought was there all the same.) Couldn't she see that all they wanted to do was forget? 

She spent most of her time walking the countryside for hours a day. He had no idea what she did during that time- he didn't really care. She tried to get them to come with her. She'd managed to drag Claire out a couple times, much to the girl's chagrin, but he never gave in. That pissed her off too, sending her off on a tirade about how he "needed to get off that couch" and "How long has it been since you've been outside?" 

He knew how pathetic it was. Juliet would be horrified to see him like this. In fact, she'd probably kick his ass. It's just, what was the point of pretending that things were okay? They weren't okay; they would never live normal lives again, so why bother trying?

One thing that seemed to baffle Kate was how little interest Claire showed in finding Aaron. He, however, understood perfectly. Her baby was three years old, already potty-trained, walking and talking-on his way out of toddler hood and onto being a 'big-kid'. Raised by somebody else, she would be a complete stranger to her own son. In fact, the kid would probably be happier if she just stayed away. He felt exactly the same way about Clementine. What good would he be to his seven-year old daughter? Hell, she probably hated him- she was nearly old enough to understand the reasons he'd never visited.

It was clear that if she didn't feel such responsibility for their welfare, Kate would have been long gone ages ago. It wasn't in her nature to stay put like this in uncertain times. She was a survivor she was, no matter how heartbroken she was. And unlike them, she had something left to live for. Aaron would be missing her, she was his mother lack of shared blood be damned. But she had made a promise to return with Claire, and they'd been through so much together the three of them, she couldn't just leave them to die in the dingy building in the middle of nowhere.

They were such a disaster that it made him want to laugh and cry at the same time, so he settled for apathetic numbness instead. The days passed in a monotone blur. He could see that it was slowly driving Kate mad. She was moody and hyper-darting around all day, her walks getting longer and longer and he secretly hoped that one day she just would give up and never come back. Claire had been insane long before this and wasn't getting any better. She held regular conversations with her dead father, with Charlie and more recently with Jack too. This always made Kate cringe and leave the room. Often he'd hear her retching over the toilet bowl (She hadn't been holding down food well lately). Watching it all with strange detachment, he found sick amusement in the fact that he was the sanest one of them all.

Miles swung by one day perhaps two weeks in. He was already back to his old ways-charging obscene amounts of money for his ghostly services. It was actually nice to see him, and the two of them spent hours talking and draining all the booze they had. Claire even joined them. He wasn't sure if he was surprised or not about how normal Miles seemed, that is until his jacket sleeve slipped down his arm exposing the track-marks against his tanned skin.

They'd done pot together in the past. Hell, it had been the seventies, of course they had. He'd done it before then too, in his conning days. It had taken the edge off all the tough shit he'd had to deal with. But he'd kept clear of the heavier stuff- it just wasn't his thing. He hadn't thought it was Miles' thing either, but apparently that was how the guy was dealing with the aftermath. Kate walks, he and Claire hermit and Miles does cocaine. They deal with it.

Miles sees him staring and isn't ashamed. Relieved actually, and he rolls up his sleeves with a humorless smile. "If people are going to think I'm crazy, than might as well actually be crazy." and he actually sees the sense behind his friend's words. "You want some? I have a bit in my car." 

_Might as well actually be crazy_ he repeats the words in his head. He looks down at Claire where she leans against his legs. She meets his gaze and sets her jaw, nodding. _Might as well be crazy._

Miles goes out to his car and gets the stuff. They wait for him in silence, not looking at each other. The seconds drag like hours before Miles slumps back through the door and sits cross-legged beside the coffee table. The navy-blue duffle in his lap contains everything they need; the silver needles shine mesmerizing at him from within. Miles fills up one with practiced precision and hands it to him. Then another for Claire, and one for himself.

Miles goes first, guiding by example. Somehow he locates a vein along the pot-marked plain of his arm and slides the tip in. His face remains completely blank as his thumb smoothly pushes the plunger down. There, easy as pie. No big deal. 

Claire doesn't hesitate, but she's clumsy-her hand shaking. She misses on the first few tries her brow wrinkling in frustration. Eventually she gets it, the needle slides into her creamy skin and injects its invisible poison. Crimson rivulets trickle into the crease of her elbow from where she'd drawn blood finding the vein. They drip onto Kate's spotless beige carpet and turn black. Tears gather in her wide blue eyes but don't fall. He gazes transfixed at the tangles of pale gold hair that fall over her bare, shaking shoulders. His eyes flick to the needle in his hand.

He doesn't do it. He couldn't bring himself to. Miles sneered without conviction, and Claire's face crumples at the betrayal. _Sorry darling _but he just couldn't stop the thoughts from flooding his mind _She would hate what I've become. She'd hate me now._

Kate returns after all. Miles is nowhere in sight, but he hasn't left. At least, his car is still in the parking lot so he didn't drive away and his bag is still on the floor, open, exposing how they'd spent the past two hours to the world. 

She flips shit, predictably. There's a lot of screaming and violent gestures sent his direction but he just tunes it out. Her fit lasts only until she hears poor Claire vomiting in the bathroom, which she'd been doing on and off for the past hour. Kate runs to help, but finds the door locked (He knows; he tried. He's not completely heartless.) It doesn't stop Kate from pounding on the wood for fifteen minutes, shouting threats to break it down, threats that she'd never really carry out. (She'd be free without them after all)

Miles reappears from who knows where. He's humming to himself as he slings the duffle over his shoulder, throws a salute his way ("See ya around boss.") and trips over the threshold in his haste to leave the premises before he got caught in Kate's furious rampage. He listened to the sound of Miles' car engine fade into the distance, wondering vaguely how cocaine affected the ability to drive and if he should have perhaps confiscated his keys before their little adventure had started. Whatever, nothing to be done now.

A tennis shoe he recognized as the ones Kate had been wearing flew through the air and clipped him in the side of the head, punctuated by a shriek of rage that trailed into a ragged sob. He lay down and pressed his face into the corner of the couch, pulling the cushion over his head to muffle the sound of Kate's despairing cries. (But not before he heard her moaning Jack's name, asking why he'd left her alone.)

He missed Claire's presence by his side. He hadn't realized how much he'd really valued her company. Kate refused to let the younger woman out of her sight these days, to the point where she'd rigged the bedroom door with some sort of contraption that reminded him sickly of one or Rousseau's rigs. If Claire tried to sneak out at night, it made a racket that rang throughout the apartment, alerting Kate to the breakout attempt. She also dragged her out on her walks every day now, and no her commutes to the grocery store. So he was left alone in the house for the majority of waking hours.

None of them were on what you'd call speaking terms. Kate had turned the 'normalcy' dial to max, but giving his the cold shoulder this time. She had given up trying to get him out of the house, and instead of giving him a sense of relief, it just deepened his depression. The last time anyone had said a word to him had been Kate informing him icily that if she saw Miles anywhere near the building, she'd kill him (he didn't doubt her sincerity)

If somebody had told him three years ago that he'd miss the days of living on the beach with nothing but mangos and boar to eat, running through the jungle after polar bears, he woulda punched them in their lying face. But at least his life had had purpose then and he knew that both of his roommates felt the same way.

Claire comes to him a week later, while Kate is in the shower. Sweet little Claire with her long blonde hair and bluebell eyes. She has shrunk so much in the time he's known her, he could barely remember what she looked like the day of the crash; swollen with pregnancy, flushed pink and healthy, smiling and laughing. Now her narrow shoulders and sunken cheeks were chalky white. But there's colour too, an angry pink sheen of sunburn from walking (being dragged) with Kate without sunscreen on. Her hair is looking better than before-Kate has taken to brushing it almost obsessively. But her eyes are the eyes of the dead. He wonders when her soul finally fled.

"I don't want to see him." She says, her voice rough from lack of use. "I never wanted to see him. I want to just pretend that he died on the island. I don't want to see him."

"I know."

"She's going to make me. She won't give up 'till I see him."

"She can't make you do anything."

"I'll give in, I'll let her make me. I'm so scared that I'll give in." She is hyperventilating now, and he feels the overwhelming need to comfort her. Ignores it. "Will you help me?"

"I can't." Regret there, the first true emotion that he's allowed himself to show.

She looks down at where her nails are ripping into her palms leaving raw pink scrapes. She'd known the answer, expected it. "I'm not going to let her make me, I'd rather die." The shower turns off, they hear the rustling of Kate moving around the bathroom. She'll be out soon. "I'm never going to see him again. My Aaron is dead." The door opens and Claire leaps from the couch and scurries into the kitchen, out of sight. He watches her go.

Three days later Claire agreed to go with Kate to Australia. One glare and he'd agreed too. What difference did it make? The tickets were purchased, booked for early Friday. On Thursday Claire was dead.

She'd slit her own wrists in the bathtub that night, the night before they were set to leave, with her own bright pink razor. Bath time was the only time she'd been able to do it, the only time she could escape Kate's hawk like watch. Kate found her, of course, and screamed bloody murder, of course. He'd actually got himself up and walked to the door to see what had happened and found her shaking the body by the tiny, frail shoulders, blood on her hands. He turned and went back to the living room and picked up his book. But his hands were shaking too badly to read.

Kate cancelled the airplane tickets.

She didn't leave him. It was surprising. He knew she blamed him, and he blamed her back. But in reality they were both jealous. Claire's ordeal was over; maybe she was with Charlie and the others now. He wondered if even this minute she was talking to Juliet about babies, both of them returned to their healthy, beautiful bodies, not a speck of blood to be seen. He closed his eyes and pictured it, delicate blonde mirrors of each other.

Time passed excruciatingly slowly. Had it only been a month since they were on the island? Kate stopped throwing up regularly. They live off the money that Hurley had divided into bank accounts in each of their names before the faithful return to hell, in hopes that at least some of them would make it back to use it. Kate had all the account numbers and codes written down on a crumpled piece of paper. When their own run out they'll used Jin's then Sun's, Sayid's and Jack's. They're set for life. He read books, she walked. As he predicted she started staying out all night. Sometimes he wouldn't see her for days.

Now the door swings open and she walks in soaked to the bone, filthy and unhealthily skinny. It's the first time he's seen her in nearly two weeks. She stops in the entranceway, dripping water on the floor and stares at him. "I understand why she didn't want to see him now."

He nods gently. About time.

"I-I understand because I don't want to see him either." He voice cracks with the epiphany and tears run down her face. "I just wanted things to be normal, I wanted to start over but…" She starts coughing and her legs collapse. "I'm a horrible person."

He looks at her and something in his heart gives. "Hey." He said, sounding something like his old self. She looks up at him through the tears. He holds out his arms, and she comes to him.

The hold each other tightly that night, naked bodies pressed together, clothes discarded, moving together rhythmically. Her fingers trace a path up his left arm, along an imagined tattoo as she moans a name that is not his. He closes his eyes tightly as he runs his fingers through her greasy brown curls, kissing her neck, and pretending that he is holding the woman he loved.

The next morning she was gone, and he knew she wouldn't come back. Their time together was over. He considered packing a bag and leaving too, but where would he go? So he didn't bother. He walked out of the dingy apartment for the first time in years though, and squinted against the sunlight. The trek to town flew by and the next thing her knows he is in a store, a library, a pharmacy, and getting strange looks from the other customers. Ignores them all.


End file.
